


Do not tease me so

by Anonymous



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BDSM, Cock Rings, Hand Jobs, M/M, Maiar, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rare Pairings, Restraints
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Both Mairon and Eönwë enjoy rather uncommon pleasures. Set in Valinor before Mairon's corruption. </p><p>Fill for the following request: delayed gratification/teasing</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do not tease me so

**Author's Note:**

> okay .. I have to admit that I was a bit at a loss here with the kink what exactly it means and how it should be interpreted (google + fanlore was not a great help here :/), because I can see it in two ways. Either 1) sort of pining with constant teasing only to withdraw when a certain point is reached or 2) during sexual encounters. I decided for the 2nd option (given that it’s a kink/ship amnesty prompt and I am in a helpless smut-phase as it seems) and I hope, lovely anon, that you are satisfied with what came out at the end.  
> 

**Do not tease me so  
**

*

“Do not tease me so, Mairon,” mutters Eönwë under his breath that is already ragged and hoarse, coming in little pants, “Touch me .. kiss me .. just do anything at all.”

Oh how he loves to have Eönwë at his utter mercy, see him lying spread-eagled amidst the silken sheets that adorn his bed, hair fanned out around his head like a golden halo. From where he sits, straddling Eönwë’s thighs, he has the perfect view and all too often he finds himself reveling in the indescribable beauty, taut muscles flexing beneath the glistening skin.

“Hush, hush” Mairon coos in response, barely touching Eönwë’s torso with his fingertips, but it is enough that gooseflesh arises upon his golden skin, “do not be so impatient, you know a greater reward will await you.” When he leans in, the scent of expensive oils Eönwë uses to keep his hair shimmering tickles his nose, mingling with the musky notes of arousal and traces of sweat; such a divine mixture, he thinks as he regards him for many moments until a malicious smirk tugs at his lips.

“I wonder what your lord would say, seeing you like this,” he chuckles, and not a second later a rather annoyed frown reaches his ear. Manwë, above all the other Valar, is certainly not known to indulge into such sinful acts of carnal lust; in fact Mairon even doubts that the Lord of the Winds understands the concept at all. The chances are unlike.

 _‘A chronic bore,’_ that is how Mairon usually names him in private settings, much to Eönwë’s disapproval. He keeps naming him as such nevertheless.

“Mairon,” Eönwë pleads, not without a certain desperation, “I know that the two of you are not on best terms, but leave him out of this.”

“Worry not,” beseechingly he says then with an indulgent smile of which he knows all too well that Eönwë finds it impossible to resist, “I am merely curious, nothing more. You know, it is quite the sight you present – naked with golden flames dancing upon your shivering skin, your limbs and arms so wonderfully spread and tightly secured – stunningly I have to admit, and well: not to forget the ring that adorns your cock, and what is perhaps worst of all: you are trapped in my very bed. No, he certainly would not be amused by how you whore yourself.”

Another brazen laugh spills across Mairon’s lips, and wouldn’t it be for the restraints Eönwë would certainly leap at him, backhand him across the face.

Specifically for this occasion he has crafted the golden ring late at night when hopefully all but him were asleep. Certainly Aulë would not be amused if he knew for what exactly his Maia wastes the precious ore.

Another frown slips past Eönwë’s lips, before he hisses in determination: “Stop talking now, will you?” He is panting heavily, staring up at him whilst his arms fight against the leather restraints.

“Endearing,” he laughs, and in response Eönwë glares at him.

Mairon shakes his head, scolding him silently although he knows no matter how much the herald struggles, he struggles in vain, “I might, but that would be only half the fun.”

Eönwë arches his back to increase the friction between their bodies, upon which Mairon chuckles and regards him with amusement. “Now now, impatient, are we?” he whispers as he bends down to kiss him, carefully and languidly, not rough or hard or demanding as Eönwë certainly expects him to be.

Instead he takes his time, brushing their lips together in a chaste caress before he allows his tongue to flicker across parted lips and teeth.

This has to be sufficient for now.

With a knowing smirk, auric eyes glittering in the light of the flames, he diverts the position of his face and begins to let his lips wander along the stretch of Eönwë’s skin at his neck, just brushing the surface for mere seconds, instantly rewarded by shiver.

A strange mix of emotion flicker through the herald’s blue eyes when he trails lower; slowly, tantalizingly so, lingering to lay kisses all over Eönwë’s chest, devouring every inch of his skin where soon marks blossom, caressing every rib on the way down until Eönwë lets out a loud groan. “Mairon…” he whimpers rather helplessly, certainly getting impatient with his slow and torturous moves. But exactly this is the point of what he does – teasing, torturing in a very specific way, bring him to the brink of climax only to withdraw with a laugh.

Oh, how he loves to play at this game.

“Shh, or I will need to gag you,” he warns, and it is not lost on Eönwë that he means what he says. If the herald has learned one thing, it is this - the very reason how he ended up in this compromising position.

After that, a strange silence befalls Manwë’s herald, the one who so much loves to chatter; silent he is at least until Mairon licks his lips and runs an indolent hand up the muscular thigh that quivers in response. With the other hand he firmly grips around the hard erection giving the cock a few languid strokes until he hears Eönwë gasp, frantically so, spurring his own desire.

Wouldn’t it be for the golden ring around the base of Eönwë's cock he would have come thrice already, he muses with almost pitiful amusement.

 _‘Enough’_ , Mairon says to himself, the situation they are caught in certainly does not leave him unaffected and as much as he loves to relish in the divine sight Eönwë presents, passion and carnal desire threaten to overwhelm him, and obtaining compliance through pleasure is by far the greatest reward, so much better than any punishment he can think of can ever be.

With an indulgent smirk he diverts his position anew, crawling across the stretched out body of Eönwë, regarding him as if he is prey – well he is not far from being exactly such.

Much to Eönwë’s delight, Mairon’s mouth wanders back to his neck, towards his lips where Mairon can still taste the sweet summer wine they have consumed earlier. Roughly he seals Eönwë’s lips with his own, devouring the herald’s mouth until muffled gasps reach his ear and he trashes beneath him so wonderfully.

For seconds he allows the insane thought to take him roughly without proper preparation to occupy his mind – what should he do about it? Restrained, gagged as he was, at his mercy to be ravished until he can take no more, to be fucked him until he floats high up in the sky. Mairon’s eyes grow wide upon the sickening fantasy – he has no idea where it had come from, because that is not him! Somehow he manages to tear himself out of the malicious thoughts; as much as he loves to be in command, to have the herald at his mercy, he is many things but he is never cruel.

With a faint smirk he regards Eönwë who holds his gaze steadily, pleading him to continue without words. “I will,” he breathes as if he wishes to apologize for what has just crossed his mind. Gently he lays down on top of him, kissing him savagely shortly after with one of his hands kept between their bodies.

 _‘The final cruelty, the ultimate tease,’_ Mairon thinks to himself as he wraps his hand tightly around the base of Eönwë’s cock and begins to stroke him firmly until a string of moans spills against his lips. Upon the vocal affirmation he repeats the movement of his hand. Perhaps he should not, because Eönwë bites into his lip not shortly after. It is only fair, he assumes, knowing full well that he keeps him at the brink of orgasm for long enough already.

Eönwë’s eyes are tightly shut, his breath screaming from his lungs – so glorious he is in all the bliss, he muses, and he is his!

“Mairon, remove the forsaken ring!” he mutters under his breath, a remark upon which Mairon briefly stops, inclining his head to the side, watching him. O how he loves the theatrical nature of the herald that is so befitting for the _fána_ he usually chooses to manifest himself; all gold and glitter, fingers, arms and throat adorned with golden rings of various sizes, matching his hair that resembles molten gold in the faint glow of the candles.

Fair he indeed is, Mairon notices, and prone he is to fall for all things beautiful.

The divine silence is interrupted by Eönwë’s desperate whines and moans when he apparently remains quiet for too long.

“Eönwë,” he sighs in exaggeration, eyebrow delicately quirked, “Mairon – what?” Even after so many years he has not learnt the magical word.

“PLEASE! For Manwë’s sake, remove it.” Eönwë chokes out, thrashing and struggling with violent force against the restraints, but Mairon merely laughs upon the remark which can be easily judged as blasphemy. Nevertheless something within him stirs, heart pounding heavily against his chest. He leans in to kiss him deeply before he speaks, eyes glittering with mirth and mischief, “I might consider if you ask me nicely.”

Frustration is visibly manifested across his handsome face, and for seconds, Mairon indeed feels pity for him.

“Haven’t I already begged, what more do you wish to hear? I beseech thee, make me come.”

Mairon’s smile widens, becomes almost radiant and indeed he obliges and fumbles with the fastenings of the golden ring, of course not without letting his fingertips dance along the swollen flesh before the ring clatters onto the floor.

When the waves of orgasm wash over Eönwë, it nearly seems as if the restraints will break; eyes closed in bliss, lips slightly parted when warm seed spurts between their heated bodied. He cries out, yes, but for once he does not have the coherency to cry out Mairon’s name when for moments his fëa separates from his divine fána, soaring towards where Mairon does not know.

When the spasm finally subsides, Mairon leans in and kisses him lazily upon the bruised and swollen lips with heartwarming affection.

“Untie me,” Eönwë pleads with wide eyes, still struggling to catch his breath but Mairon only shakes his head. As much as he was content to simply watch him whilst he came moments ago, reveling in the sight he presented at the height of pleasure, presents still, his own erection calls desperately for attention now.

“No,” he states with a mischievous smile, “I am not yet done with you herald.”

He is not done with him for many hours.

**Author's Note:**

>  **[Disclaimer]** \- The Maiar are (unfortunately) not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Estate – I just like to explore their lives a little further. No money is made from this story.


End file.
